The Beginning of the End
by Ms. Scarlett Evans
Summary: Sometimes, we have to choose between what is right, and what is easy. Harry knows this, but will the web of deception he has to weave to save those he loves lead him astray?
1. The Prologue

A/N: This is, for me, my first attempt at writing a story. I cannot garauntee I will write more, or that I will update frequently if I do. I have _**very**_ loose plotline for this.

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- Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Headmasters Office -

"I knew I was right about you!" Moody snarled, his scarred and mutilated visage twisted into the most frightening look Harry had ever seen on him, which was definitely saying something. "Filthy, Scumy,_ Traitor!_"

Harry inched back a few places subtly. "Yes, you were," He agreed placidly, his finchers inching ever so slowly towards his wand; the slightest hint of scorn entered his voice as he added snidely, "And much good it did you,"

Ron and Hermione were staring at him, their expressions resembling the one a person might wear after having been bashed on the head with a frying pan; their mouths lolling open, and their eyes as wide as they could go. Harry might have laughed at it at any other time, but facing a pissed off Moody, and a number of slowly comprehending Order Members, he didn't think it was exactly the right moment.

No sooner had his hand reached his pocket and grasped hold of his wand than Dumbledore spoke, with no hint of a twinkle in his eyes, his expression full of unspeakable disappointment.

"Why did you do this?" Dumbledore asked quietly.

Harry scoffed, trying to buy time as he slid his wand out of his pocket and behind his back, pointing it loosely towards the door. "Why did I do this? You want the _truth? _I did it formy own reasons; I did it because Voldemort had something to offer me, something that you _couldn't_."

Dumbledore's expression darkened, "Power?"

It was more a statement than a question, but Harry answered it anyway.

"Not Power," He disagreed, "I have enough power, and I know better than to think Voldemort ever would or could give me more than I already have. It's something more important than _mere_ _power_, but I can't tell you what it is..." Harry's voice caught as he trailed of, and he grasped his wand tighter with his suddeny slick hand, "...but you'll find out soon enough."

Harry knew his time was running out; he had act quickley, or it would be too late.

"I'm very disappointed in you Harry," Dumbledore intoned sternly, "I'm sorry it has to come this my boy..."

Harry saw his wand raising slowly.

Now.

"So am I," He breathed.

......

_BANG! _

There was a sound, like the shooting of a gun and thick grey smoke filled the office, making them cough, and making their eyes water. The smoke refused to be banished by spellwork, and it took a good three minutes for it to clear enough for them to see.

Harry was nowhere in sight.


	2. Harry Demented

**- Harry Demented - **

Harry let his cheek rest on the window, his breath blowing clouds of condensation across the glass. He squinted at his watch, barely able to read without his glasses, and saw that it was 9:00 PM. He groaned, his head falling back with clunk to rest against the glass. He had been up since 7:00 and the letter from the Order said they would be there by twelve. It had already been two hours, he didn't know how he could survive the next two.

He sent a jaundiced look around his room. Full of broken video gaming systems, toy trucks and other odds and ends, it looked like a toy cemetary. It used to be Dudley's second bedroom, the place where he stored all the toys he invariably broke. Back when Harry still used to sleep in the cubboard under the staires - that was before Harry knew he was a wizard.

These days, everything seemed to be about endless _waiting_, waiting to leave the Durselys, waiting to go to Hogwarts, and then the whole thing all over again, over and over in an endless cycle. He supposed the monotony would be less oppressive if he had been able to communicate with his friends, but his friends had been forbidden to write to him. Well, they had been forbidden to give him any _information_ at least, the letters they _did _write him were full of such uselss drivel and platitudes that they might as well have not written at all.

He understood they meant well, but being out of the loop, especially at a time like this, grated on his nerves. He didn't mean to sound arrogant, but he was the one in the middle of it all wasn't he? He was the one who had to face Voldemort time and time again, would it really kill them to send along one tiny scrap of information? He didn't buy the excuse about letters being intercepted - this was the magical world after all, there_ had _to be another way to communicate.

At least _this _summer, he wasn't being subjected to back breaking chores from the Durselys, though it wasn't much better being locked up in his room at all hours, only allowed out for bathroom breaks, and to cook them breakfast and dinner.

He glanced at his watch again, and let out a pitiful groan as he realized only thirty minutes had passed in his brooding state. He straightened up from his slump, standing from the chair and twisting his torso back and forth until he heard his back crack. Stumbling his way through the maze of debris, he plucked his old, spellotaped glasses from his desk and perched them on the thin bridge of his nose. Feeling slightly better for the fact that he could _see_ now, he navigated his way to the door, opened it, and slipped through.

He made his way down the thin staircase, avoiding the staires he remembered as being especially nosy. Reaching the bottom, he puttered his way into the kitchen, mechanically reaching into the fridge and cubboard for all the nescessary ingredients for the morning fry up.

It was just as he was dishing the last of the eggs onto the plates, and setting them on the table, that first of the Durselys came in; it was his Aunt Petunia, though she would be the last one to admit any such association, looking prim and proper even in her fuzzy slippers and pink bathrobe. She barely gave a sniff in his direction as acknowledgment, before she sat down at the table, and proceeded to daintily demolish her breakfast.

It was at this time that the stampede that was his Uncle Vernon and Cousin Dudely made it's way downstairs. As always, he swore he could feel the house shake, as the two morbidly obese men thundered down the stairs and into the kitchen. Without even a word or glance at Harry, they sat at the table, and proceeded to shovel down what seemed to be four times the amount a healthy adult male would eat. Looking at them, Harry was, for once, glad that he didn't recieve breakfast with them, he would surely be put off his appetite. As it was, he thought it a miracle his Aunt was still able to eat. _Practice_, he thought sardonically.

At last, breakfast began to wind down, and he thought it safe to speak up, now that his Uncle had been pacified by eggs and bacon.

"Uncle Veron," He began softly, deliberatly making his tone as soothing and non-confrontational as possible, it wouldn't stop his Uncle if he was determined to have a mood, but it was better to start things off as diplomatically as possible.

His Uncle narrowed his beedy eyes in what he must have thought was an intimidating expression, but was one which instead only made him look slightly cross-eyed. "What is it Boy?" He bellowed.

Harry took a deep breathe, trying to keep himself calm, and said as placidly as before, "Around twelve today I'm expecting some of..." He grimaced, ".._My_ kind. So I wanted to let you know I'll be gone for the rest of the summer."

His Uncle gave a piggish grunt. "Your Kind? I suppose if it's the only way to be rid of you, I'll put up with them, but I'll not have them in the house, mind." His Uncle wagged a threatening finger in his face, "After what happened last time with Dudders..."

Harry interrupted swiftly, before his Uncle could get himself worked up in a tirade. "Of course Uncle, I'll wait outside for them."

His Uncle eyed him, and huffed in a manner that seemd to indicate as much of his approval as it did his annoyance. He rose up from the chair, pecked his wife on the cheek, ruffled his son's hair, and proceeded past Harry out the front door.

**A/N: Another chapter, I don't know how long this muse will hold me for, but I'm hoping I can continue on for a good while. If anyone would care to offer comments, I would appreciate it. I would be willing to respond as long as the reviewer is longed in.**


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